She could feel the heat of the assembly watching, growing more and more curious. And her mother. And Jane, who said with soft grace, “Go on, Auntie. You deserve a dance.”
Jane.
Hetty shook her head. Not with Edward. No. Captain Harris. No.LordCourtenay.Lord!How on earth had that happened? He’d had barely tuppence to rub together when they’d known each other. And now… he was so far above the aging spinster the whole town condescended to be kind to that it was a wonder she could see him.
But she could see him. And that lit a fire in her, a fire that arrived with a little, chaotic laugh. “Because you left,my lord, orCaptain, or whoever you are. And I never danced again.”
“Oh.” A soft exhale of surprise from Jane, who’d certainly never seen Hetty say anything so forcefully ever before.
Edward, on the other hand, had seen it many times. He’d been the only person ever to see the truth in her. And he’d left. “Hetty,”her name came on a soft, deep rumble, like he’d been saying it for twenty-one years in her mind. “Hetty. I’m back.”
“No.” She shook her head again, feeling sad and angry and a little bit wild. “You’re too late.”
She pushed past him then, crossing the room, pushing past the revelers, desperate for air. She found it beyond the large doors, out on the balcony, beneath the night sky, her hands gripping the cold marble balustrade tightly as she looked to the darkness and willed the tears that threatened not to come.
And it was only then, as she attempted to pull herself together, that Hetty realized her mistake. She hadn’t left him.
She’d returned to the place where it had all begun.
“I’m sorry.”
He’d followed her, of course. It seemed that one thing that had not changed about Lord/Baron/Captain/Harris/Courtenay/Whatever He Called Himself Now was that he did not take no for an answer.
At least he’d apologized.
She did not look to him as he drew close, coming to stand alongside her. Did not speak as he gripped the balustrade, his strong hand mere inches from her own. Instead, she stared down at that hand, wondering at the white scars that crossed the back of it. Wounds she might have cared for if he’d returned. If they’d had the life he’d teased her with.
“Let me explain,” he said, deep and quiet, like a secret. “I came back.”
She nodded. “So you said.”
“No,” he said, the word clipped, as though he wanted to say a dozen things but instead settled on, “Not today. Not now. I mean, I came back then.”
Disbelief sent her gaze flying to his face in the shadows. “That’sa lie. I was here. I was waiting for you. I stood by the window for hours. I waited. And waited. Through the autumn. Into the winter.”As long as I could.
He nodded. “There were terrible seas on the voyage back—waves so high I’d never seen the like. We were tossed far off course and landed in Gibraltar, where we were commandeered and conscripted to fight.”
She sucked in a breath. “You saw war.”
He nodded. “Like my father and his father before him. A family business of sorts.” He huffed a wry laugh. “ButIdidn’t die.”
Thank heavens.
“After we held the day at St. Vincent, I returned. I came straight to you. Here. In Highbury.”
“When?” The question was more breath than sound.
“April the twelfth. In ninety-seven.”
Her heart began to pound. “I wasn’t here.”
“Your mother wouldn’t see me. Your father barely looked at me. I was told you were north with your sister. That you had met a man. That you were to be married.” He looked away, to the darkness. “To a man of means, someone worthy of you, your father said.” He looked away, lost to the memory. “I left that day. Returned to the navy. Became a captain of a different sort. Traveled the world for something I wanted as much as—”
You.
Her heart was in her throat, the words spilling out of her. “That April, I was not here. I was north, with… Jane. But the rest—it’s not true. There was no man. There was no marriage. My father, he lied, and he shouldn’t have. They never told me. I should have known. I deserved to know.”
She had deserved to know, if not when he arrived, then after, when she returned to Highbury, devastated with sorrow and lossand longing for what could never be, before she packed it away and guarded it fiercely with chirping and chattering and nonsense.
